


Know by Name

by wordswithout



Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, but also canon defiant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswithout/pseuds/wordswithout
Summary: "We are with Geordi. That means we are not alone." Through many years and many pronouns, Hugh finds his way.
Relationships: Hugh | Third of Five & Geordi La Forge, Hugh/Geordi La Forge
Comments: 20
Kudos: 144





	Know by Name

**Author's Note:**

> Re the romance, TBH I had trouble deciding between Hugh/Geordi or Hugh/Elnor. I went with the former mostly on the strength of watching "I, Borg" six million times and weeping at "friends...like Geordi and Hugh," every single time, but I think the right answer is actually Hugh can have two boyfriends, as a treat.

_**Know by Name** _

1\. We are Borg. Resistance is futile. We will add all biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Intent is irrelevant. Opinion is irrelevant. We are every voice. We are every drone. We are the Collective. We are Third of Five, scout ship Zero Five. We will assimilate. We are cohesion. We are. All life as it exists will come to an end. We will adapt it to service the needs of the Collective. We seek perfection. We seek completion. We are Borg. Resistance is futile. We will add all biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Intent is irrelevant. Opinion is irrelevant. We

*

2\. We are still on the vessel. It is not a Borg vessel. It is called the Enterprise. We are not with our others.

We are with Geordi. That means we are not alone. Geordi gives us our new designation. He studies us very carefully. He is not efficient. He is not Borg. He says that he wants to stay Geordi, and we do not understand. He says, You’ll get it one of these days. Then he frowns. He speaks this way very often, with his face. He says they are expressions. We do not understand. Borg do not have expressions. We ask, Do we have expressions? He says, Doctor Crusher wants to run some more tests.

We know who Doctor Crusher is now. She also studies us. She also is not efficient. But Geordi studies us more. This is because Geordi is our friend. Friends is not like assimilation. They do not talk in one mind. It would be acceptable to be one mind with Geordi, but he does not wish it. He says he would rather die. So we are not one mind. He says this is called being respectful of the boundaries of others. He says friends is how individuals have others. We are not an individual.

We do not understand it, when it is just us. Quiet. Quiet. Quiet. The Collective is never quiet. Quiet is insufficient. We do not understand our space on the Enterprise. There are drones there who never speak to us in our mind, to make it less quiet. Geordi says they are not drones. He says we are the only drone on Enterprise. He says they are called security guards, and they guard us in the brig. We say, They do not speak to us. He says, Yeah, uh, they’re not real happy about having you there. They’re a little scared of you, Hugh.

We are Hugh now. That is our designation.

We say, We do not know what scared is.

Geordi says, Scared is when something is happening, or might happen, that you don’t want. You feel small, like you don’t have any control over what’s going on. Most people find assimilation pretty scary, so most people find the Borg pretty scary.

We say, Does Geordi find the Borg scary?

He says, Of course.

We say, Is Geordi scared of Hugh?”

He says, Nah.

He is studying the implants that enter into our skull. He has a device that beeps, a tricorder. We know what it is because we have assimilated humans and human technology. We know that his visor allows him to see. He does not know what we are because he has not assimilated us. He says, There’s so much going on here...all the systems totally integrated... He says, Wow.

We say, Wow. We do not know what wow means.

He says, Hey, Hugh, what are you underneath all this, anyway?

We do not know what Geordi means. We explain to him our systems. The connections of tissue and implant. But he says, No, that’s just Borg tech. We say, We are Borg. He says, Yeah, but before that. What species were you before you were assimilated?

We say, We are Hugh.

He says, No, that’s your name.

We say, We are Borg. Third of Five.

He says, But _before_. Like me. I’m Geordi, right, that’s my name, and my species is human. You must have assimilated hundreds of species, you know the differences and…

Differences are irrelevant, we say. We are getting upset. We know species. We are Borg – Third of Five. Then we are Hugh. We do not know the answer to Geordi’s question. We do not remember a _before_. We are separated from the Collective. Doctor Crusher has explained to us about getting upset. It is a chemical response in the body. We say, We thought we were Hugh.

You are, you are, Geordi says. Forget it, it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.

We say, What is sorry?

Sorry is when you feel bad that you did something, upset someone.

The Borg do not feel sorry, we say. We are Borg, but now we are also Hugh. We still feel upset.

Look, how about we get out of here, get some fresh air? Geordi says. I got permission from the captain to show you around the mess hall. Just don’t touch anything.

We do not know what a mess hall is, or why fresh air is required. But we are not upset now because we can go with Geordi. Geordi is our friend.

He takes us to the mess hall, which is a room for fueling. We go with a guard. Captain’s orders, Geordi says. A captain is like a Collective but he is only one voice. One voice can be argued with, or ignored. The captain was once Borg like us. We remember his voice when it was many. Geordi says, I probably wouldn’t bring that up.

In the mess hall we meet many others. Geordi says their names and designations. It is very inefficient. In the Collective we would already know. Geordi says, Here we introduce ourselves first. Make a little small talk. It’s not as easy as just knowing everything but it gives you a chance to find things out about others over time. That’s important, because people change over time. We’re always learning, Hugh, about each other and ourselves.

We do not understand. We try to assimilate this meaning. We say, Geordi is learning about us. He smiles. We say, Are we learning about Geordi?

I don’t know, he says. Are you?

Then we meet another individual. His name is Data. He is machine, like us. We are part machine. We are part everything. Data is not like Geordi. Data speaks more efficiently. We ask him if he would like to be assimilated. Geordi says it is polite to ask someone what they would like. Data says he does not think he would.

Borg do not like or dislike. The Collective is many. It decides. We are Borg. We are also Hugh. We...like...Data. And Geordi. They talk to us so there is not quiet in our head. We do not like quiet.

Data says he is an android, and androids cannot truly like or dislike either. They can be programmed to prefer any thing. Geordi says, In the end it’s brain chemicals telling me what I like, so what’s the difference? Data says, That is an interesting premise.

We like listening to them. We say this.

Data says, Geordi, you look startled.

We say, We do not know what startled means. Is it like scared?

Data says, No, startled is a different emotion, although the two are said to be sometimes closely related. I cannot say for certain myself, as androids cannot feel emotion.

Geordi does a thing that is called, shaking your head. We try and it makes us dizzy. Geordi says, You have to stop shaking after a couple times, Hugh.

We see the individual called Guinan across the mess hall. She is looking at us but she does not talk. She is lonely like us, without others. We know what lonely is now. It is insufficient.

We also meet Data’s cat. We have never assimilated a cat before. It is not a sentient species and it has no technology. Yet Data says its name is Spot. We ask him how he knows. He says, I have learned that it is very important for every individual to have an identity. A name is part of that identity.

We think about this. It is very hard without the Collective to tell us our thoughts.

Then we walk to the brig. We teleported to the mess hall but Geordi said we could walk back so long as we kept it quiet. He said walking back might not be what the captain would want. On a Borg cube drones who malfunction are taken apart and destroyed. We said, Are we malfunctioning? Geordi said, Not quite.

We are going back to the brig and we say, We are Hugh. Our name is Hugh.

Geordi says, That’s right.

We say, Then do we also have an identity?

Geordi says nothing for two hallways. The guard says nothing either, but we do not expect him to. His function is not to be a friend. Geordi is not smiling like a friend, like before. He is looking into the distance but there is nothing for him to see. He says, That’s the big question, isn’t it? An identity. Do you feel like you have one, Hugh?

We say, We do not know. Tell us.

Geordi says, I can’t. You’ve got to figure this one out on your own, that’s what makes it yours.

We stop walking. We say, Tell us!

The guard stops also and lifts his phaser. Geordi puts up a hand. He is looking at us now, very much. We can tell because we can sense how his visor scans. It’s OK, he says. The guard slowly lowers his phaser. We do not care about him.

We say, How do we know if we have an identity? Borg do not have identities! You must tell us so we know!

Geordi says, Try to understand, Hugh, I _can’t_. I can’t answer that for you, no one can! What makes you, you – that’s private, that’s personal. Most people go their whole lives trying to figure it out.

We do not understand, we say. Private? Personal? You say we are not Third of Five, you say we are Hugh, but you will not tell us what this means. What is Hugh? How can we perform our function if we do not know what it is?

Geordi says, Being an individual means no one can tell you who you are but you. But that’s a _good_ thing, Hugh, don’t you realize? It’s _freedom_.

We say, Freedom?

Geordi says, Freedom is scary, but it’s also full of possibilities. The freedom to decide, to choose, to be happy. It means different things to different people and finding what makes you feel free is part of your identity. I know...I know this is a lot for you. We’re talking about concepts you never even knew _existed_. But you can do this. Maybe the Borg don’t like differences, but for us, differences tell us who we are.

We take one step back and one step forward. We cannot understand this. We are _not_ an individual.

Geordi says, OK. Let’s take it one piece at a time. You know more about yourself than you realize, Hugh. You… He looks excited. He says, You don’t like to be alone. That’s something. Your name is Hugh and you like crowds, people, being around other voices.

We say, That is our identity?

He says, Sure. But it’s just one small part of your identity. Along the way you’ll realize other things you like and dislike, things that make you scared or happy, and they’ll be part of your identity too.

We think about this.

Then the guard says, No it won’t. Aren’t we tossing this thing back where we found it?

Geordi looks at the guard with a very big expression. The guard says, Sorry, sir. We do not want Geordi to look at us that way. We are – scared – of this expression.

But when Geordi looks at us he is smiling. We like that expression.

We say, We like Geordi. That is part of our identity also.

Geordi stops smiling. He looks again at the guard and then he begins to walk fast.

We walk to the brig. We do not like the brig. We are assimilating all this new knowledge about our identity.

Geordi says, Alright, well, I’ll see you later…

We say, We do not like the brig.

He sighs. He says, Hugh…

We say, It is too quiet. Our identity is we do not like quiet. No voices. No others.

Geordi crosses his arms against his chest. He looks at us. Then he says, You know, I have a bunch of engineering reports to submit. What if I stay down here with you while I work on them?

We say, Geordi will stay with Hugh?

He says, Just for a little while. I’m on duty in two hours—

We say, We want to stay with Geordi. Geordi is our friend.

Geordi says, Damn it, and rubs his head like it hurts.

*

3\. Humans lie. We know this. So why does it still surprise us?

Me. We mean, why does it still surprise me.

They said I could lead but I cannot. We – I – already tried to believe them before, when they said we – I – could be an individual. A one, without the Collective. With friends. And I believed them...I still believe them...but we are not like them! We are weaker on my own! And I _am_ alone, even among the other drones. That is what they have done to me.

I don’t like referring to the others as drones. Or referring to myself that way. I wish – I _want_ – another word. Another identity, one that isn’t tied to a mindless, voiceless past. But when we bring this up with the others, they do not know what we mean. They are further behind us – _me_ – they are further behind than I am in the process of becoming many ones instead of one. Becoming individual. They do not know what it means when I say we must be unique now, we must embrace our differences. They see only that differences lead to arguments, disruptions, inefficiency, flaws. They see that our differences let us fall victim again and again: first to our own bewilderment, rejected as diseased by the Collective, then to the whims of others who do not care what happens to us, only what happens to themselves. Lore took control of our cast-away hive and would have destroyed every one of us to get what he wanted.

But he promised us such beautiful things. I believed in him. We were wrong.

And the others know I was wrong. They have never met Geordi or the Enterprise, and they see our new life only for its errors, not its strengths. And I do not know how to explain it to them. Sometimes we are afraid they are right.

The Borg never lie. All minds are one mind. All voices are one voice. It is easier. It is _easier_.

We – _I_ – want to believe in the humans of the Enterprise just as I wanted to believe in Lore. I want to remember that we are, that _I am_ Hugh. That I do not need the voices of millions in our head.

But humans lie. Our cube assimilated our knowledge of individuality and became confused. Instead of all voices as one, it became all voices at once! Shouting, shouting, and never coming through. We were afraid! We had had to leave our friends behind and now we were alone!

Geordi said we could do this. Be individual. Live a better life. But he lied. He did not say how hard it would be. We are afraid and we do not think we can survive.

I want to believe him…

But now we sit here in the damaged cube we are trying to repair and we, I, think of Captain Picard telling us we can, no – _I_ can lead them. The other individual Borg. And I think, another lie. How can I lead them when I don’t even know which _I_ I mean? The captain was Borg and then he was man but he had his friends to help him always. I am so far away from my friend. It would not be safe to go to him, even now, we are afraid that if we did…

I think of what Geordi said, when I was with him, about finding an identity. If I am to help the others, if I am to make what the humans said go from lie to truth, I must know who I am first. So that I can make it easier on the others, so they don’t have to be alone while they go through what we have gone through.

What _I_ have gone through. I. I – I – I. I am not Borg. I am Hugh.

Would Geordi be disappointed in me, if he saw how we are now? Captain Picard and the others said he had been hurt by Lore. They had to get him back to their ship quickly, there was no time for me to see him. I did not like to know that he had been hurt, hurt by Borg like me. We were the ones who first agreed to follow Lore. Even if I had left him by that time, am…am I to blame for his hurting Geordi?

I do not know what to _do_ with blame. The Borg do not have blame! They have unity! They have designations! They do not worry about the pasts of those they assimilate. The pasts become irrelevant. They do not feel guilt over what they destroy – they do not even see it as destruction.

But I am not Borg now, and I do feel guilt. For Guinan’s people, for Captain Picard, for Geordi. For all of it! I am not part of the Collective and yet I feel the Collective guilt. The others with me, they do not understand yet, but they will, and I am afraid for them, I am afraid that they will suffer too much. I do not want them to suffer.

I do not want anyone to suffer.

Our body is still wrapped in wire and transceiver – if anyone saw us, they would think we were Borg and they would be afraid. So we – I mean, so I stay on the cube most times. We are repairing it but the work goes very slow. Some of us were tactical drones, now forced to work beyond assigned function. Others simply do not care as we care. They listen to me only because mine is the loudest voice. I think of the other drones I failed: the ones Lore damaged, and the ones who went mad in this cube because I gave them individuality but did not give them the tools to make it bearable. I do not want to fail these drones too.

I hate the word drone.

I try to do what Geordi would do. I try to make a plan. To bring order to chaos. If we are able to repair this cube, we will try to go to the Federation. All Borg know of the Federation from our failed attempts to destroy it, but I also know it from Geordi and the Enterprise. It is theirs, and it is strong, and it has room for many. Maybe it will help us – all of us. Maybe it will tell all of us who we are.

When I know who I am, maybe I can see Geordi again. I can show him my identity as Hugh. I want to like being Hugh. But even in the worst times I did not try to forget being Hugh, either. I think of how Geordi said he would rather die than be assimilated. I think one day I might feel the same.

Sometimes, as I sit in this cube that was home, I believe Geordi lied when he told me I could be Hugh. Sometimes I believe he was right. And I do not know how I can feel both things, how I can live with the differences. If being an individual means not knowing how to choose but knowing that you must, how can anyone bear it? How can we bear it?

I. How can _I_ bear it.

I want to be strong. I want Geordi to be proud of us. I do not want him to have lied.

There, that is another part of my identity – I do not like lies. Lies are like little Collective whispers in your mind, filling you with bad thoughts and hurts inside so that you cannot think for yourself. And in fact...the Borg did lie, when they said resistance is futile. It is _not_ futile. Now I am resisting it too.

We are alone and scared but we are not Borg. I am Hugh.

*

4.

Stardate 23xx.x

Executive director, Borg Reclamation Project

Personal log

What an incredibly frustrating day. I’m almost too exhausted to record it.

It was that one Romulan guard, of course – the one who seems to think his weapon is his personality. Charming individual. I was walking with Dr. Soji Asha, after her work for the day. She is a fascinating one. Sometimes I think she knows more about the Artifact than anyone else on it besides myself – the rest of the time I think she knows more than anyone, myself included! It seems to amaze even her, the information she’s got piled up in the back of her mind.

It should be annoying, but to watch her with the other xBs...she’s so good with them. She talks to them as though she believes they’re listening to what she says even if they can’t show it yet. Not many others in this place bother.

Unfortunately, today we chose to walk down a certain hallway just as the charming Romulan was hassling another xB. Demanding to see identification and purpose for being there, while she stared blankly. Of course most xBs don’t have identification beyond their numbers – many don’t even have names yet. And technically none of us need to justify our presence on the Artifact proper once we’ve been fully unlinked. It belongs to the xBs, doesn’t it? It was their home, wasn’t it?

Except that if you’ll consider the paperwork you’ll find it actually belongs to the Romulans, and _technically_ is a troublesome word. An exact quote, by the way, something I was told soon after I arrived here to take up my position with all sorts of _troublesome_ fantasies in my head. Thoughts of liberty and ownership and right to self-determination...problematic fantasies like that. But whichever Romulan general is listening in on this log, not to worry! I’ve been well-disabused of such silly notions by now.

Heh. I’m bitter today. Who am I to complain, really? My Federation credentials if not my title save me most of the aggravation (most, not all – let’s say my title makes them laugh before it makes them listen to anything I have to say), but the others don’t have titles. The others are so fragile that many of them react to a sharp voice without considering what the voice is saying. It’s easy to frighten them, and the guards here know that. Know that the xBs have very little say in their own lives, their own futures. They have very little protection.

Beyond me, I guess. Whatever protection it is I can give them.

So I told Dr. Asha to go on ahead and I approached the charming Romulan and asked him if there was a problem. Up close I recognized his victim, an xB I’ve been working with personally. I think she’s close to finding a name – she reacted quite strongly to a few suggestions in our last session. It’s always the most exciting time, when they learn how to name themselves...names are so crucial to sense of self, especially for those of us without pasts to reclaim. No one knows that more than I. A name is a new beginning. A name is hope.

But our charming Romulan guard saw none of that when he looked at her. Or at me, for that matter. He saw...well, I suppose he saw a vicious blank-eyed murderer stuck inside a battered casing. A nameless thing pretending to be a person, and doing a poor job of it. I’m never so aware of my own scars as when others notice them. So often I feel the weight of my implants, even the ones that have been removed.

So the guard looked at me the way you might look at the rotting corpse of your worst enemy, and said, “This one’s gone a little far from its den, hasn’t it? This is a restricted area. I thought you drones were good at following orders.”

“xB,” I told him, evenly as I could. “Not drone. That’s basic protocol.” And if you had any doubts about my title: _technically_ I outrank that son of a bitch, but he looked me up and down and sneered, with a hand on his weapon.

I did the one thing I could do, the one thing that really wounds individuals like this one. I ignored him. I turned to the xB, said her designated number, held her mismatched eyes with my own. Her face was slick-smooth with burn scars and skin grafts, especially where the ocular implant had been, but I didn’t flinch. Not flinching when you talk to us is so important.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I told her gently. “Come, let me take you back to your friends.”

She stared at me, without blinking. I could feel the force of her desperation, how she was trying and trying to make contact the only way she knew. Trying to hear my voice, to make me hear hers. Trying to _know_ me. The Collective fills you – with poison and violence, yes, but it _fills_ you, and then it is ripped away from you and you’re left with so much empty space...lungs, scarred inside, without air to breathe. How desperately she wanted contact.

And how blind our guard friend was. “Is it deaf?” he demanded, still with his hand on that damned disrupter. “Get it out of here!”

I have patience, yes, but not that much. “She doesn’t understand you,” I snapped. “Vocalization is difficult for her. She isn’t used to it!”

“But you understand me, yeah? Get it out of here now or I’ll drop it where it stands.”

“Do that,” I said, “and I’ll inform the Romulans that my remaining here is untenable. I’ll have to tell the Federation too. Losing Federation support could throw the whole operation into question, don’t you think? Over the actions of one low-ranking low-thinking idiot? How do you think that conversation will go?”

He glared at me. Hate was a thing I had to learn – the Borg do not hate. There’s nothing personal in assimilation. But I’ve come to understand hate in many forms by now.

“It might shock you but I _am_ in charge, and you’re the one who shouldn’t be here,” I said. “Go find an empty closet and threaten the dust. Go!”

I wasn’t sure he would, but he went.

I smiled at the xB, who was still standing silent, locked in her isolation. Something else the idiots on the Artifact can’t fathom – how _lonely_ it can be. No wonder the Disordered Ward exists. No wonder so many of us wander the darkened halls. This cube was once thrumming with energy and voice, it was all around you, it _was_ you, and you would never be alone. I don’t regret pulling a single xB from the Collective, not for a moment, but I understand what I’m taking from them by doing so. Shaken from a nightmare, but left to walk its ruins once awake…

I haven’t been Borg for thirty years and I still feel it. The greasy touch of the ghost of this place. The Reclamation Project is trying very hard to turn it into a place of redemption, but on my worst days I still dream of it stealing me again, ripping out my eye, ripping out my voice, taking everything that was Hugh and discarding it for that naive stranger, Third of Five...

Hopefully the Romulans never realize my resignation threat is a lie, and not even a very good one. I could never leave the other xBs here alone.

I reached for the xB’s hand. “May I?” I asked, speaking slow, over-enunciating so she would hear the sounds of the voice not in her head. We are usually very accepting of physical contact – when you come from a society that dismantles itself for parts, you find your sense of personal space to be somewhat...stunted. It’s important for us to know you can keep yourself intact.

She blinked, looked down at my reaching hand. “Yes,” she said at last, and I interlaced our fingers.

“Come,” I said. “Let’s go back.”

“Back,” she echoed, and then: “June.”

My heart skipped. June: one of the names we had discussed together, taken from a massive database, picked through at random. “June,” I said, carefully. “Is that your name?”

“My name. Yes,” she said.

“It’s a beautiful name,” I said. “I think it fits you.”

Oh, my people.

What a foolish recitation this has been. What a fool I am! I will delete this log entry. What right do I have to be bitter? What do the sneers of others matter, when we are doing good work here, _healing_ work here. Just think – she was a nameless tick in a hive, feared and loathed by the universe, and now she is a person. A person named June. I can’t wait to learn more about her, to learn what she likes and dislikes and how she—

[ _Incoming transmission]_

Computer, pause recording.

. . . .

Resume recording.

I don’t understand. A joke? It must be a joke. But...what kind of joke would that be?

Captain Picard, coming here? Or – oh, he’s a retired admiral now, I guess he must be…but why? Why the Artifact? Why now? When we’re not – we haven’t even-…

If I don’t stop pacing like this I’ll accidentally launch the Artifact into orbit. What does it matter why? He’s coming, he must have a reason. It, oh, it might be difficult for him to be here, I’ll have to arrange to meet him at the…

. . . .

[ _Pause recording?_ ]

...No, no, I’m here. Just thinking. Remembering, really.

So many years since I’ve seen anyone from the Enterprise. Picard, Guinan, Doctor Crusher. Geordi. I’ve thought of them so often, but I never dared reach out. Even after I heard about Data, about the ban on synthetics...I don’t know. I should have reached out. I was too frightened. No one in the galaxy is hated the way the xBs are. They were my friends but what if – what if they no longer wanted to be? What if these people, these kind, brave people, what if they didn’t see Hugh when they saw me? If I look in the mirror I see scars and discoloration and clusters of implants cutting into the skin. Hair, too. Hair is nice. Is that what Hugh is? Who he is? It is better here, on the Artifact, I’m so busy working with the other xBs that I don’t have time for self-doubt. It is better not to know.

But I think about Geordi so often…

Would he be proud of this work? Sometimes I think I only survived becoming an individual because he was there to answer my questions – in person at first, and then in my mind. I used to imagine what he would tell me, how he would solve a problem or end an argument. Oh, it was so horrible in the early days, not knowing what to do. But I would think, these are things that Geordi does too: fix a conduit. Open a door. Rest now instead of later. Go to this room instead of that one. Foolish. I’m sure he hardly thought of me at all. But being alone in the universe is almost as bad as being Borg. I needed to think of my friend.

He would rather die than be assimilated? I would rather die than know he thought of me as a drone. When Picard comes I won’t ask him about Geordi. I’ll greet my old friend the captain, and show him what we’re doing here, and I’ll help him as much as I can. And maybe he can help us...

Computer, end recording.

*

5\. The first two xBs die almost without a sound, but the third one looks at you in the spare second before the disrupter fire. She mouths, “June,” at you or to herself, and then her head is snapping back with the force of the blast. You know you are crying, but you are very, very far away.

The room is dim and rank with the smell of fresh blood. The Romulan Narissa is stalking back and forth between you and the line of xB captives. She hasn’t killed all of them yet. She looks at you with mingled boredom and disgust, but you note in a distant way there’s something hectic churning at the backs of her eyes. She’s in a rush.

“Where did you send them,” she says. “Tell me and I’ll spare the rest of these monsters. No? You’re sure?”

She turns and she fires. Another xB falls. You knew this one too. You know all of them, your people, you are their leader and Narissa knows this. This is why you have had to go very far away. Somewhere past the ceiling, past the void of space. You look down on the slaughter and see yourself, mute like the dumb drone machine they say you are. You’re standing very stiff, arms at your side – you’re standing like a drone would stand but weeping like a child. Narissa turns back to you and puts her face very close to yours. Even so you’re having trouble focusing on her expression. You keep trying to look beyond her at the dark swarm of the Collective, which drowns out all thought and all pain. But the Collective isn’t there.

“I’ll use small words,” Narissa snarls. “Picard and the synth went somewhere. You sent them there. Do you have any idea how big a mistake you’ve made? Did you really think you could keep them from me?”

You have the mad urge to bark your Borg designation in lieu of an answer. But the problem with reaching for _we_ is that the _we_ is empty. There is only _I_. And the I is impotent, the I is watching the xBs watch him, trust him, wait for his help. You can’t be an I right now and stay sane. Easier to leave yourself. To think of yourself as some other, somewhere else.

“Last chance,” Narissa says. She grabs the back of your head, tugging the hair at the roots until you cry out. With her other hand she presses her weapon against your exposed throat until it breaks into the flesh. “I’ll kill every rat on this cube in front of you if you don’t tell me where they went. _Now_.”

Somewhere inside of yourself you’re screaming, _Lie to her! Make something up!_ But you have never been a good liar.

Somewhere inside of yourself you’re thinking, _Friends don’t betray each other._ Maybe it was Geordi who told you that.

Somewhere inside of yourself you are still Third of Five, asking, _Why?_ And everywhere inside of yourself you are totally alone.

“Fine,” Narissa says. She lets go of your hair, flicks her fingers at the guards.

The guards fire.

Sometime later you come back to yourself.

You are on your knees amid the bodies. So many bodies. The eyes stare into nothing. The blood soaks into your clothing. You aren’t crying any more, but you don’t know what you are. You are an individual who’s failed his people. You don’t have a single friend.

No.

Someone is calling your name. Footsteps, very light against the metal of the Artifact. Elnor rushes into your line of sight, sword drawn. He sees you a second before he sees the carnage.

You say dully, “She let me live because I’m Federation.” You don’t really know what that means. Your others, your others, how can you live knowing you’ve failed them?

The answer comes to you quick as assimilation, there’s no way to resist: There are still xBs who live and are in danger. This cube that should be their home is turning into their grave. The crew of the Enterprise who saved you were very brave people. And it was Geordi who told you, “Along the way you’ll realize other things, and they’ll be part of your identity too.”

Elnor’s hands are on your shoulders. He’s trying to pull you to your feet. He says, “Hugh, I’m here. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t flinch when he sees your face.

“It’s so – it’s so fucking quiet here,” you say, a little wild, a little hysteric.

Elnor tells you he’s going to stay and help you. Tells his shipmates the same thing, waves off their concern when it comes over his comm-link. You tell him there’s almost no chance in the universe of pulling off what you’re thinking now, in bright sharp flashes like phaser fire: the power of the Artifact, which is a dormant cube, but _what if you woke it up_? What if there’s no more time to hope for good men like Picard to give the xBs their place? Elnor tells you he knows this plan is probably doomed. Somehow his frankness forces you to huff out a laugh. He gets you up and moving, clasps a steady hand to the back of your head, looks you in the eye. Leads you from the grave site.

And you are no drone with a designation now but a person with a purpose. With someone else at your side.

The trouble is you aren’t very good at scheming. Borg don’t strategize, they adapt and overwhelm. The trouble is Narissa is very good at plots.

You’re leading Elnor back to the queencell, where you took Picard and Soji so they could flee. A lifetime of avoiding this heart of power and yet now you keep going back. You’re explaining to him your plan, to use the queencell to reactivate the cube and protect the xBs, to find them a place of their own where they won’t be dependent on _anyone_ – not Picard, not the Romulans, not the Federation, not Hugh the xB fool. Despite all you’ve seen today, somehow you’re beginning to hope. And even as you’re explaining this to Elnor you’re marveling at the fact of his presence here. At his height, his grace, the gentle strength in his hand when it brushed your nape. At his sword! To use a sword in this time and place! Were you ever so earnest, so young?

You’re thinking that you’re angry, _so_ fucking angry, and beneath that you’re scared, and beneath all that you’re happy to have Elnor here, a friend. You’re thinking that you’ve spent so much of your life so far from your friends.

You’re not thinking of Narissa, but she’s thinking of you.

Her ambush is well-placed, her threats vicious – but you can’t hear a word she says, all you can hear is her calling the xBs vermin as she shoots them down. Elnor shoves you behind a bulkhead and launches himself at her. You’re not a fighter, never were. Even as a drone you were used as a scout.

You grab at the bulkhead, feel the energy locked inside it, inside the whole cube. Energy you could access if you were still Borg. _But I don’t want to be!_ You think, _Geordi, I would rather die!_

Elnor and Narissa are battling across the narrow passageway. All her guards are dead. The passage is dripping sprays of green. But this is _your_ place – not Narissa’s, not even Elnor’s – this is _your_ place to defend, as Hugh. You know what being Hugh means! It means an entire life!

It means all the lives that have brushed up against yours and all the lives you’ve brushed against yourself. It means Data showing you how to pet a cat. It means you showing other xBs how to choose a name. It means lonely nights with no voices in your head, and it means the memory of all your friends, whose voices are always with you.

You could laugh. You could almost _sing_ . You think, _Stall her, stall her just a little longer_ , as though Elnor could hear you, as though your minds were one. The queencell is just past the ambush and you can use it to liberate your people. You hear the _snk_ of Elnor sheathing his sword and without thinking you dart past the bulkhead towards the future…

The flit of pain like an insect bite. Geordi explained to you once about mosquitoes.

There’s wetness at your throat and suddenly your legs cave, suddenly you can’t breathe. There is a moment of disorientation and terror as you grab at yourself with numbing fingers, but it fades. Elnor’s face pops up above yours, white-drawn with disbelief. He grabs the dagger that stabbed you and hurls it back almost without looking. You tell him about hope and lost causes. When he says he’ll liberate your people you trust him because he is your friend, and that’s what friends do. They trust.

You still can’t breathe. The blood bubbles at the corners of your mouth and drips between your fingers. You think, _Hugh. I am. Hugh. Hugh. I am. I am. I am. I a—_

*

6\. “...is that?”

( _voices_ )

“Elnor, if you don’t stop hovering I will eject you in an escape pod.”

“Yeah, about that, this ship barely has warp power. It doesn’t have escape pods.”

“Then I will eject him _without_ an escape pod.”

“You’re only yelling at me because you’re worried it won’t work.”

“It will work. The Doctor was directly responsible for the care of multiple former Borg on Voyager myself included and we’re using his research.”

“Except I’m not even _a_ doctor. I did tell you that.”

“You were intimately familiar with the design of his cybernetic implants and you’re the best engineer in Starfleet.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, it was a directive. Do your damn job.”

“I have got to get you in a room alone with Worf. Pass me that – no, Elnor, the other one, with the bulb at the end. Kid, you need to catch up on modern technology. Hold on. Now.”

( _the Collective?_ )

“Does it hurt?”

“Don’t know...even assuming the stimulants are working, I’m not sure if these nanoprobes are affecting sensory response. To be honest I’m not sure I know how we’d tell.”

“But you do know his implants?”

“I _did_ , thirty years ago. Before someone hacked at him with a buzz-saw.”

“What’s a buzz—”

“Look at the way whoever it was ripped out the nodes in the back. Like they weren’t even trying to avoid scarring.”

“You seem angry.”

“No, I’m _frustrated_ because I can’t focus on what I’m doing with you two crowding up back here. Shouldn’t one of you be keeping Romulans off the cube? Shouldn’t one of you be _flying_ the cube? Damn! Damn it.”

“What is it?”

“The flesh here’s necrotic, it won’t hold the new node in place. This is why you should have gotten a doctor!”

“Time was limited, you were hard enough to find on your own.”

“The ones we asked wouldn’t help an xB. Not even when Seven hit them.”

“...Yeah, well, I wish you’d gotten someone here sooner. Stasis isn’t exactly a cure-all for decomposition.”

“Wishes are irrelevant. We made do with what we had. Besides. He is former Borg. We aren’t so easy to kill.”

“Uh huh. You just keep telling me that...hand me the hyperspanner. OK. OK. I think we’re done. If the new nanoprobes stimulate brain function like you said they would...”

“They will. It may take time.”

“I’m not sure we’ve _got_ time. The Romulans are going to take this personally. Frankly the Federation isn’t going to be thrilled about a cube moving on its own power either. And did I mention this ship barely has warp drive? I was fixing it up for _fun_ , not for some – stealth rescue mission against _Romulans_.”

“Irrelevant. The cube has superior speed and weaponry.”

“Yeah, believe me, I know.”

“I like the cube. The xBs are friendly.”

“So long as they stay ex...still no response. Let’s try cortical stimulation again.”

“We should go find Picard and the others. They can help us! Or we can help them. I’m not sure who needs more help. But I won’t let the Romulans take back the cube, it doesn’t _belong_ to them. I swore myself to this!”

“Look, at some point real soon you’re going to have to sit down and explain what the hell is going on, but for right now just hand me the stimulator and hold your breath.”

( _no. he knows these voices. friends._ )

“...There! He moved, I saw him move.”

“Elnor, come with me.”

“But he’s waking up! I want to tell him his people are safe, he needs to know that—”

“Come with me, now.”

“Oh, I see. We should let him be alone with Hugh because Hugh loves—”

“ _Elnor_.”

“...Hugh? You in there? Hey, try opening your eyes for me. Come on.”

It’s hard, but…

His body feels as though it is strung through with many thin wires, few of which he can control. It’s a horrible feeling, worse than the pain chittering in every joint. There is a hand on his shoulder – drones come to salvage him for parts? No, don’t take his control away, don’t put him back in the hive…

“Hugh? You’re all right, now, just let it happen. We’ll get you through this, I promise, just don’t tense up. Trust me. Try to open your eyes.”

Because he trusts that voice, he tries. Trusts that he’ll recognize himself when he does, that he’ll still have his voice, still have his name. Trusts that he will be an individual. A hopeful fool believing in a lost cause...but that is his identity.

He’s tired, dizzy, hurting deep down but he opens his eyes. The face leaning over his has aged: grey at the temples, wear under the eyes. The visor is gone; he can see the glint of implant machinery behind the pupils. The eyes are kind and blood-shot with worry.

“Geordi,” he says.

The eyes soften above a smile. “I’ll be damned. I was afraid it wouldn’t work.”

“Geordi isn’t afraid of Hugh,” he says, falling sleepily into old speech patterns.

Geordi laughs. “Afraid of, never. Afraid for? All the time. Can you sit up? I want to make sure it’s your body taking over and not the new nanoprobes.”

Hugh sits up with his help. He takes in his surroundings – some sort of narrow room on some sort of narrow ship – and disregards them as unfamiliar. The pain is there, but less: he’s thinking clearer now. All the old fears cluster back, the xBs, their safety, Elnor’s safety, Narissa’s tricks, the quiet in his head. But in the center of the tide, something new.

“Geordi,” he says.

“Hugh, if you’re feeling up to it I want to run a few tests. You weren’t _dead_ dead but you were damn close and I’m _not_ a doctor...I really wish Beverly was here. Turn this—hey!”

It’s less a hug and more a collapse. He leans against Geordi without the strength to hold himself upright, seeking the contact, the warmth of his other. Geordi clears his throat and shifts and then wraps an arm, both arms around him.

“I’m here,” Geordi says. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” says Hugh. “You are.”

“You’re gonna be OK, Hugh, you’re not alone. We’ll fix you up.”

“Yes,” says Hugh, who knows himself. Who understands at last.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what Star Trek tech does, I was frantically searching for engineering devices on the wiki at 1am and I may have written that entire last scene around the image of Geordi whacking at Hugh with a socket wrench going, "Computer, reboot Hugh!" It's fine. Forgive me any misuse of the technobabble.
> 
> Anyway as far as I'm concerned this fic is 100% canon. I'm a Voyager fan, OK. I remember them using Seven's nanoprobes to bring Neelix back from the dead. If nanoprobes can work on friggen Neelix they can work on Hugh "I would die for him" Borg. h m p h


End file.
